Acoustics
by Kay Willow
Summary: Sound carries -- especially sound you don't want to carry, to the ears of the one person who shouldn't have heard... Not like this. Thanks, Kanda. //Marie/Miranda//


**.acoustics.**

Weeks later, he could still feel it if he kept very still and stopped listening for a moment. The way her body had felt, thin and wet and trembling against him, and the way that her fingers had grasped his arm, clinging to thick muscle in a way that made him feel more powerless than he could remember.

He told her, over and over, "It's okay. It's done. You did a good job. You did it, Miranda."

And at some point when her shivering had stopped, she had turned to him, and she said with her voice faint and drawn, "You're the -- third person to ever tell me -- I did a good job."

Marie turned his face down to his arm, where her slim fingers had held him captive.

Lost in thought, he didn't look up until he heard somehow angry footsteps that could only be Kanda's. Marie straightened, clearing his throat and running a hand over his jaw. He was never _quite_ comfortable without his headset; a sort of security blanket, even though it was only an aid and not the source of his enhanced hearing. It was an odd thing, a weakness that only a handful of people knew about, where most people might have thought not being able to see was his real weakness. He felt less _confident_ without them.

Kanda slid into the bath and sighed, irritable. "You've been in here for twenty minutes," he said impatiently.

"Sorry. You weren't waiting, were you?" Marie said, stretching. Had it been twenty minutes already? He certainly had lost track of time somewhere in there. He started to stir, tightening his towel around his hips. Probably best to get out, then.

But Kanda didn't notice, saying, "You were thinking about that woman, weren't you?"

Marie froze, which was as much a guilty admission as if he'd answered with _Why would I think of anyone else?_ Kanda was watching him with his attention like a shark's, narrow dark eyes seizing alertly on that hesitance. It was impossible to feel too much like Kanda's big brother when the younger man was so predatory even in innocent situations like this, but they were certainly close enough to be brothers -- and Kanda knew him like a brother.

"The way you keep mooning over her, even our master is bound to figure it out eventually," Kanda said grimly.

It wasn't hard to imagine what would ensue then: mysterious shipments of flowers in Miranda's room that alleged to be from Marie, both of them receiving urgent messages beckoning them to the same secluded candlelit room... General Theodore was a shameless bleeding heart, a willful romantic, and a devious matchmaker. The first time Daisya had shown an interest in a girl, their master had tried so hard to make it work for him that the usually-outgoing youth had been mortified clear into shyness.

"That would be nothing short of disaster," Marie said, half to himself, and slid back down to sit on the edge of the bath. "Tell me he doesn't know."

"He knows something. He's been asking me if there's anything new going on with you."

Marie sighed a little. "And I imagine you told him you didn't know or care," he said.

"Of course."

Of course. Marie leaned back, wondering if he could make some excuse -- he could have been sick, or maybe something about his family back in Austria that would give him good reason to be distracted. And then he could... remain sick or distracted forever.

That would never work.

"You're not going to say anything to her," Kanda said flatly. He wasn't even asking.

Marie frowned at him and pointed out, "You are not exactly someone I should be taking romantic advice from."

"Shut up," was Kanda's only response to that. "I don't let anything affect my responsibilities. _Your_ every _action_ is being affected because you can't stop thinking about that stupid woman."

"She's not--" Then Marie heard shuffling footsteps out in the hallway and his heart stopped a beat. He said calmly, "Kanda."

"And if you don't tell her how you feel, then _I will_."

"Kanda, this is not the time--"

"Why _Miranda Lotto_ of all the useless, incompetent women in the--"

There was a clatter out in the hallway, as if someone (with distinctive footsteps, in smart button-up ankle boots with just a slight amount of heel) had crashed into the little table just outside the bathing room (where voices carried) and knocked the brass bowl on top of it to the ground. Kanda flew out of the bath, grabbing Mugen from the rack on the side and padding with undue speed for the door in nothing but a wet towel; Marie, already certain of what he would find, found a bathrobe to wrap around himself before he headed for the door.

_She probably didn't hear anything,_ he told himself. _She probably heard her name and stumbled, that's all. She was just passing by._

"Put the sword away, Kanda," he said with what he thought was admirable calm as he pushed open the door. He could hear all the details of the scene that he couldn't see: Mugen's naked blade shivering in the air, Miranda's high alarmed breathing, and then a cascade of nervous babbling that was nearly incoherent. He knew better than to make a move for Kanda's sword hand, but he repeated, "Put it away. Miranda isn't a threat."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then Kanda snorted dismissively and slid Mugen back into its sheath. Almost immediately Miranda started scrambling over the floor, grabbing for things.

"I, I didn't hear anything!" she said quickly. "I just -- heard my name and stumbled I didn't hear anything really I was just passing by with -- with these towels!"

Hearing his own denial in her voice was as good as confirmation. _Damn._ Marie felt himself flushing darkly.

"Hmph," Kanda said. "That'll work." He turned on his heel and stalked back into the bathing room.

_Heartless..._ But that was Kanda for you. Marie hesitated a beat and then ducked down, searching the floor for the towels. "Don't mind him. He'll point that thing at anyone--"

"Oh, oh no, you don't need to help," Miranda assured him quickly. It was some very small comfort to know that she was at least as flustered as he was. "I can handle this! Please, get up..."

Some of the alarm was fading from her voice, and she just sounded gentle, and caring, and a little bit embarrassed. Marie settled back on his haunches, allowing her to talk him out of searching for the fallen towels, but not quite capable of leaving just yet. If she'd heard... then... he owed it to her to say something.

Marie cleared his throat, and started lowly, "I'm sorry you had to -- hear that."

"What do you mean?" she said with false cheer. "I didn't hear anything!"

"I can hear you lying," he told her, amused. Her heart gave a little nervous shiver whenever she said something like that -- cute, he thought, although he'd be mortified to admit it.

For a moment there was silence; Miranda folded her towels and he knelt next to her, waiting for a sign that he should continue, or make excuses, or apologies. Some hint of her reaction, aside from embarrassment.

Whether or not she... was interested, in a confession like that from him.

"Maybe I did hear. Something," she admitted, folding the towels with rhythmic movements. A handy distraction. "But you don't have to worry. I know that it wasn't true."

"It wasn't-- What?" Marie asked, numbly.

She laughed, a little, self-deprecating, although still with her head turned down to the towels. "Kanda was wrong, I know that. I mean, someone -- wonderful like you -- could never really -- I mean, no one's _ever_--"

She wasn't lying, but her voice was rising anxiously as she moved deeper and deeper into her insecurity, and that made it so much easier to just say, "Miranda," firmly cutting her off before she could get worked up. "I think you're one of the most caring, selfless, devoted people I have ever known. I deeply admire you, and I want nothing more than to -- make you happy."

The words got harder the longer her silence stretched out. Even her compulsive folding had stopped. Marie rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat rising in his face again. "I'm glad that you know, now. I just... wish you'd found out. Differently."

_Maybe more like that, and less like Kanda shouting it derisively._

"I don't. I don't think I've ever heard you say so much all at once before," Miranda said, almost shyly. Marie started to relax, to let out the breath he found he'd been holding. "You have a beautiful voice. And, and you have beautiful ears, too." Then she froze -- he could practically hear the blood rushing to her face -- and waved her hands wildly in protest. "Th, that was a strange thing to say, wasn't it?! You probably think I'm strange now, I'm _so so sorry_--"

"Thank you," Marie told her, smiling faintly. "I'm flattered."

She finished folding the last towel and clutched the pile to her chest. "So am I," she said, with another laugh, hesitant but not -- for once -- downplaying herself. "Did I interrupt your bath...?"

"I was just getting out, actually," he said, reaching out and taking the towels from her. "These are going down the hallway to the supply closet, right?" He could make it to the supply closet without seeming publicly indecent in his bathrobe.

"Oh! Yes." Miranda stood with him, fidgeting nervously with her fingers. "It must seem strange, that an Exorcist would be -- carrying clean laundry around."

Marie smiled. "Not strange," he corrected. "But I am curious."

"I just love fresh towels. They always make me feel a little bit better about myself. They're so... clean and fluffy... and I can't do the laundry right but I can at least carry them, usually, anyway."

They walked together down the hall, and it seemed at first like nothing had changed, but slowly she sought his free hand with hers and curled her fingers trustingly into his.

He would ask her to dinner, he decided. A romantic dinner, out on the town, where she would be responsible for nothing but being happy, nothing that she could burn or tear or otherwise convince herself that she was doing wrong.

He would ask her as soon as he was fully dressed.


End file.
